


The I of Magnus

by JonTheNord



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:00:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24571201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JonTheNord/pseuds/JonTheNord
Summary: A ragtag company of four adventurers is drawn to a long-forgotten Dwemer ruin, wherein lies a key to an ancient knowing that has been asleep for millennia and has now started to awaken.
Kudos: 1





	1. Prologue: Peripheral Visions

Expansive plains spread out in front of her as she crested the craggy hill. The patches of yellowed grass dispersed here and there on the barren terrain softly swayed in the gentle breeze. The sky shone bright, soft puffs of cloud unhurriedly wafting across its azure face. The air balmy and tender, the seemingly unending winter long behind. Everywhere the intoxicating scent of fresh flowers, fresh leaves, fresh life.

A perfect day.

And something awful was about to take place. Somehow she knew this. Although she knew not _how_ she knew.

And then she saw them. A rock's throw down the slope from her, men and women, attired in armor and carrying weapons and shields, somehow deeply at odds with the surrounding serenity, as though at war against it.

The soldiers did not seem _anxious_ , exactly, but there was certainly the feeling of tension in the air. They kept looking around, glances mostly, as if not wanting the others to see their unease. It was skyward that they kept looking.

She observed the soldiers for some time, as they barely seemed to care about her presence, no matter how out of place it was among them. She stayed where she was so as to not call attention to herself, yet they must have been aware of her, since she was visible atop the hill.

Only then did she take notice of the man standing over to the side, away from the rest, right below the crest, observing the skies. There was something of unassuming about him, yet something distinctly esteemed as well. Regal.

Before she realized, she was moving. She came to stand next to him, trying to see what he was seeing. He did not appear to take notice of her standing there and just kept his eye cast in the azure distance.

She did not mind, as she was pretty sure she was used to this kind of thing. Not being noticed.

She was already considering saying something, or at least clearing her throat to get his attention, to notify him of her presence, when he spoke.

"Do you judge us ready for him?" His tone was calm, meditative, his voice soft but rimmed with gravel.

"Him?"

That's when he first took a look at her. He frowned. Then looked on ahead, carrying on as if she'd never said anything. "I would have never guessed the weight of the crown, during all those years I spent convinced that mine was the head meant to carry it." He grunted. "I suppose that makes me a fool."

Was that a question?

She considered him. There was something very familiar about his hard-lined, bearded features—furrowed deep with years of worry, it seemed. Yet she was quite certain she had never met the man before. "Who _are_ you?" she asked.

He looked at her again, frowning deeper. Then the light of comprehension came upon him. "Ah yes. You're not from around here are you?"

 _I honestly don't know._ "No," she said. "I suppose you are right about that."

Perplexment flashed in his eyes, but he hid it immediately. "I am Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of the Free People of Skyrim." When he said it, it was like a declaration.

She thought there was something not quite right about what he said, but could not for the life of her say what that could have been.

Ulfric Stormcloak regarded her. "And you, young lady. Who might you be?"

 _Young_ lady? _Ah, well I suppose that is correct._ She then met his ice-blue gaze, and shook her head. "I . . . I can't say."

For an instance, he looked perplexed again. Then nodded. "Ah, I see." He even gave her a little smile. "A secret. I understand."

"No," she said. "That's not it."

"No?" he asked, studying her. "What is it, then? Why can't you say who you are?"

"Because I . . ." She looked for the correct words. Sought out the distant hills with her eyes, as if hoping to find them there. "Because I do not know."

Now the man simply could not, or _would_ not, hide his confusion. Ulfric opened his mouth to say something.

"He comes!"

He spun to face the fields at that cry from below, gauging the skies. In one fluent motion, he then swept out the huge sword on his back and shot her a feverish look.

"Get you to safety!" he hissed at her. "The battle begins." And then he was off, running down the hill.

Confused, she watched the man join the bustling army below. Everyone looking at the skies. As if waking from a stupor, she only then looked herself. And frowned.

Momentarily, a huge shape blotted the sun as it passed. Her mouth fell open as her brain refused to believe what her eyes were taking in. Her heart, however, suddenly bouncing in her chest, seemed to know exactly what to believe.

A gut-wrenching shriek cleaved the air as the enormous shadow twisted in place, preparing to plunge at the earth. Then it stopped mid-flight, stretching out vertically with its massive wings beating the air around it with a sound like a dozen whips slashing at nothing. Close enough to the ground, the wings sent the grass below fluttering as if it were every bit as agitated by this apparition as the people. The birds were suddenly silent, and even the soldiers seemed to be holding their breath as they awaited the inevitable, although those with bows for weapons were drawing arrows to hurl at the airborne monster.

And then something like a frozen whirlpool poured out of the dragon's mouth as it stretched its massive jaws wide open. The soldiers were nothing to that attack, many flung down to the ground, where others managed to leap out of the way of this most unnatural phenomenon. Archers flung their arrows, but they seemed to do next to nothing, ricocheting off the armor or black scales, many snapping in two or more pieces before raining futilely to the ground.

The dragon roared and spun upwards again, pirouetted in the air, and made for another deadly plunge. On the ground, many of the soldiers were down and not getting up, whereas the rest routed every which way, their own survival reigning supreme over any formalized training of proper military form.

And in spite of all this madness and mayhem, she found herself on the move. As though in a trance, she slowly walked down the hill, toward where the slaughter was taking place. Now people were definitely taking notice of her, some screaming what she knew to be dire recommendations to run for her life. She thought she could half hear what they were saying. What is she doing, that fool girl!

Indeed, what? She had no idea.

The dragon swooped down, blowing down more soldiers with its icy breath, catching one screaming, floundering woman in its claws and spiraling upwards. Then it tore the poor soldier in half, raining blood and guts on her routing comrades, finally dropping the mangled remains.

Part of her was shocked by the sickening display, yet she kept walking in a strange cloud of calm, as if nothing here could touch her, could ever harm her. She somehow knew that was not entirely true, yet true enough to justify her calm.

She kept nearing the beast now circling the air above. And then it seemed to notice her down there. The dragon shrieked and made to plunge down.

She stopped, waiting. The enormous shadow descending above her. She felt no fear. She felt very little, in fact.

Instead of showering her with its arcane breath or capturing her in its claws, the dragon extended its legs and spread out its wings to slow its fall and landed on the ground some twenty paces ahead of her. The ground shook with a boom underneath its bulk.

She stood where she was, watching as the dragon folded its black wings and leaned its head forward to get a look at her in turn. It was as though fire stared out at her from the sides of that wedge-shaped head. The whole creature was like a massive, jagged sculpture of charcoal, all black-scaled, misshapen spine.

The dragon cocked its head, as if trying to comprehend what it was looking at, trying to make sense of this foolish woman who showed no sign of reasonable terror.

In truth, it made little sense to her, either.

Then, suddenly, the black breast pulled its head back sharply; and if surprise could have been expressed by the angular, ridged reptilian features, this was as close to that as possible.

There was something like . . . recognition in the dragon's eyes. Followed by something else. Hatred? Or even . . . fear?

The dragon's low-rumbling voice seemed to shake the air as it uttered one word in human language.

" _YOU_!"

There was no point in trying to deny that this was something she had not expected to hear coming out of that dagger-toothed mouth.

She shook her head at the monster, still feeling more utterly at a loss than afraid.

"Who am I?" she demanded.

But there was no reply. Only a roared word in a forgotten language, and then a blinding wave of heat roiling over her.

Fire. Pain.

She screamed.


	2. A Missing Thread

She awoke with a gasp, springing into a sitting position. It took her a while of blinking at the surrounding dusk to decipher exactly where and _who_ she was. The room looked familiar, though she could not immediately place it.

She remembered herself first.

It suddenly seemed a thousand years since Ariela had left her humble home in Cyrodiil. First the shack of a house that she'd shared with her small family, then the prison cell of a dorm room she had inhabited as a scholar at the Scholar's Guild of Tamriel at Skingrad. She had loved both of those humble abodes dearly. Yet she'd also been excited to leave everything familiar behind, and embark on her adventure to Skyrim. And even after her misadventures and misfortunes, she realized she was still excited.

Excited and _terrified_!

Then what of the strange dream? The one she'd just woken up from, her heart beating like it was trying to break out through her ribcage. What had it even been about? Where had it taken place?

She realized that the details had already blurred out of her mind. Yet she could still sense the remnants of a presence, of some immensely powerful person or being whom she had encountered in the dream. It frustrated her to no end, but she could not for the life of her summon any details into her awoken consciousness.

_Who or whatever it was, it feels like they're still with me!_

She shivered, scanning the room. The upstairs room of the Inn was compact and orderly, not containing anything out of the ordinary. There were the strangely comforting noises carrying from the drinking part of the establishment, bleeding though the floorboards. There was Ariadne, the willful young mage, huffing away at the other end, fast asleep. She was sleeping awfully deep for someone who had just been nearly killed just a few hours ago. Killed or worse. Most likely worse.

_And don't forget the lich!_

Truth be told, there were many aspects to their past predicament besides that one that she would havegladly forgotten. But she had to keep some things fresh in mind. They were not safe yet. Something terrible was in the works in this province, and Ariela knew she had to play her part in stopping it. Whether she liked it or not.

A group of mages with sinister intentions had gotten a foothold in Skyrim and had corrupted at least a couple members of the College of Winterhold. She had seen with her own eyes how they had summoned the spirit—or lich, or whatever the thing had actually been—of Mannimarco himself, intending to bind him to their will! They had fortunately failed, as the deceased—or ascended, depending on who you believed—wizard had played them for fools. Fools indeed—to have imagined that they could bind such a powerful entity!

Ariela shuddered at the memory of Mannimarco addressing her before taking his leave. The things he'd said to her . . . she could not even bring them to mind presently—demonic lies, certainly!—but the impact of them still echoed within her soul.

A wave of overwhelming tiredness suddenly swept over her. She gazed longingly at the night stand. But the herb she'd been eating every night for a year now had been left in the fort. The herb had kept her vivid dreams at bay. They had always been vivid, but ever since she had come here, they had gotten far worse. Emphasis on worse, since they were almost always disturbing ones. And based on her dream just now, it was evident that they were back.

Sighing, she laid back down. It was still dark enough to sleep for a couple more hours, the earliest birds tentatively starting their song. Ariela decided to face whatever the night would still throw at her, and so she closed her eyes.

Too tired to care

_Come what may._

She fell right back asleep, and did not dream of a thing.

That she knew of.

* * *

Runa leaned against the railing, breeches around her ankles, while Thorgir the Meathead fussed with the front of his. She took a draw of the almost finished bottle of brandy, and gave a drunken snicker. She spat a long string of spittle down in the filthy water of the Riften canal. In the background, the sounds of merriment and drunken arguing from the Bee and the Barb, momentarily amplified whenever someone opened the door, which was frequently. "Are ya gonna get it ready or what. I ain't—" She belched, and almost spewed up her last swig. "Ain't got all night, do I?"

"A minute, lass. _Sheesh_ , so impatient!"

"If only it was something to actually look forward to, I might play a different tune."

"Are you _trying_ to make me lose it?"

"Pfft! I know you. This kinda talk only puts you in the mood!"

"Smacking you in the head would do it!"

"Ah, now you're talkin' my language!"

Finally Thorgir managed to get his pecker more or less hard and cram it in. He started to hump away. Material for a letter home it wasn't, but it got the job done. Plus, as sauced as Runa was, she wasn't really feeling much down there to begin with. But a little rub still always felt in order when you were having an otherwise good time. Seemed to go with the whole.

And while fellas sure came prettier than old Meathead, at least he wasn't lacking substance where it counted. Word was, it wasn't his upper head earnt him his moniker. Runa could see credibility in that.

A couple of middle-aged nobleborns in mighty fine clothing then chose that moment to stroll past. What they were doing at this time at this part of town Runa would never know, but she could well picture that she and Thorgir were quite the sight. You could see that in the scandalized expressions of the couple, too, especially the lady whose eyes were nearly popping out of her liberally fed, plump face.

"Evening," Runa said. "A nice night for it, huh?"

The indignant pair could not have gotten past fast enough, coupled with all the huffing and puffing and eye-boggling you'd expect.

Runa giggled, tossing the now empty bottle into the dark water below. It made a moderately satisfying splash.

"Hey, you laughed me out!" Thorgir grumbled.

Runa pulled up her breeches "Ah, you were done anyway."

"No, I wasn't!"

"Yes," she said, lacing herself up, "you were."

Then, as Thorgir moped like a little boy, she rolled her eyes. "Look, if it's so important to you, I can finish you off with my hand." She started working her mouth to prepare enough spittle for the job.

Now he even managed to look indignant. "No thanks, Runa. I'd rather not be humiliated."

"Humiliated? Many a man would _pay_ for it!"

"Many a man would pay to be humiliated," he replied.

She gave it some thought. "Good point. I think."

Thorgir gave a hearty laugh, as if to shrug off the awkwardness. "No matter, lass. I'll just go find someone else willing!"

"I hear Jorgen Half-Foot is feeling frisky tonight."

"I'll plow Arctus the Bear's hairy ass if that's all I get, but I ain't going to bed without blowing off my junk."

"Man with such a silver tongue, how could anyone not fall for you."

He waggled the said tongue lewdly at her. And then he was on his way.

Runa leaned against the railing, and the smile soon faded from her lips. Looking down into the fetid, murky water, she was revisited by the memory of the corpse she had once seen floating there as a kid.

_A corpse . . . sorta like the Nightingale._

Yeah, there was still that. Carousing all night had not made her forget what she'd just done. _No biggie, really._ She'd only killed the most prominent crime boss in Tamriel. The leader of the super organization previously known as separate entities of the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves' Guild, now the most leading force of corruption and lawlessness in all the land. The man who had the High Queen in his pocket. Maybe even the Emperor himself by this point.

_Yeah, no sweat!_

Even if she hadn't in reality acted alone, she'd promised to take both the credit and the heat. And even if the whole thing _had_ turned out to be a ruse. For all she knew, the Nightingale had been nothing but a red herring. Covering up for . . . who the hell knew!

_Well, no one knows that other than me, so for all intents and purposes . . ._

She'd have to figure out what she was going to do now. So far, she hadn't a damn idea.

_They're not gonna just let it slide, that's for sure. If they even suspect it was me—and nothing tells me they ain't gonna—that'll mean tough times for ol' Runa._

Well, she'd been through some damn ugly situations before. Never mind that this was even uglier?

The door swung open again to let out a tottering woman muttering to herself, and in the brief splash of golden light, it was almost as if Runa could for a second see her position exactly as it was—and pretty it was not. But the sounds and the smells of live bodies pressed together in a shared, willful illusion of happiness was luring enough to pull her mind off her morose meditations.

She spat down in the water, and hauled herself back toward the sounds of cheerful distraction.

She'd think more on it come morning.

* * *

The morning had always been Erik's favorite time of the day. Everything fresh and still waiting to unfold. No matter how disappointed you had been at the day before, it felt new. You could make it how you wanted, it was all up to you. Better yet when the morning was like this one: the start of a hot late spring day, already warm with the caress of a gentle breeze, not a scrap of cloud in the sky, birds warbling in their melodic choirs as if their song were there for you. Yes, such a morning without fail met him in a good mood.

Except for this one.

At face value, everything was as it was meant to be: the sight of Riverwood tugged on the heartstrings as it ever did, bathing in the morning sun's golden light. The rough timber and the thatched ridge roofs of the houses, the gently flowing river glimmering in the soft, slanted light, the street lined with ferns and clover, grass growing in the cracks of the flat cobble stones, the patinated sign of the smithy, that faint smoke of the forge drifting lazily over everything, and all this comfortably nestled in between the surrounding conifer trees and mountains. Without a doubt, Erik's favorite place in Skyrim.

He now frowned at the roofs and the road and the grasses. Thing was, there would always be something to remind you how you could never take such nice things for granted. Hard as it was to believe it at moments like this, the world was an ugly place, full of ugly folk intent on making it even uglier. Or maybe they just wanted to make it us ugly for everyone else as it was for them. He wasn't sure.

Whatever the case, such ugly folk were who he was after. A gang of bandits who'd been wreaking havoc on good honest folk around here for the past few weeks. Erik's long-time employer Maren Dragonheart, had sent him scouting. He always did what she told him to, without question. But this time there had been little need to tell him twice.

Erik took a deep breath, set his jaw, and tried to let the anger boiling inside of him settle.

Riding in the town, the first person he saw was old Alvor, the local smith. The burly fellow was stoking the forge, his tools laid out ready. Ever the early bird. Such a sight never did fail to lighten the mood, as a reminder that something in this world could always be relied on.

Alvor took notice of Erik and let go of the bellows. "Slayer!" he cried with a big smile on his gray-bearded face, waving a big hand at the end of a beefy arm, the fat of age enfolding still-knotted muscles heaving with the motion.

Erik cringed. He always did when people used his old moniker. _Erik the Slayer_. He couldn't believe now that he'd taken that to be a fierce name in his youth! He waved back. "Hey there, Alvor! Waking everyone up with your racket again, are ya?"

"Racket? It's called honest work, boy. Your lot woulda never heard of it." He looked around. "And early? Those of us that don't need a drink to get outta bed call this day, sonny!" He bellowed out a hearty laugh.

Erik walked his horse closer. "Aye," he said. "Well, us dishonest lot are good for something, you must admit." He left the horse and stepped onto the creaky porch in need of repair, despite the obvious attempts at doing so. For a man so apt in smithing, Alvar sure was a lousy carpenter. "Like dealing with the _really_ dishonest lot. I hear you've been having trouble with just the sort."

"Aye." Alvor spat, his jolly mood gone. "The bastards came here just the other day. The guards manage to fight them off, but not before they'd killed Hod's cow. Imagine that! What's the point, killing a man's cow? What for? Just to be cunts is why!"

"Aye." Erik stretched out his bag, eying the mountainside behind the smithy. "So any idea of their whereabouts?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. Ain't none of us so foolish as to follow them."

"No, of course. I wouldn't expect that."

"Still. Not too many spots they could be at, since they've now come 'round more'n once."

"Aye. Well, I have a couple good guesses. I'll be looking into those." He caught Alvor's skeptical look. "What?"

"You're not planning to go after them alone, are you?"

"Of course not." It had crossed the mind. Maren would definitely have chewed his head off for trying something so foolish, assuming he still had one to chew off. Never mind that that's exactly what the lady would have done in her prime. But then he wasn't exactly her in her prime, now was he. "Just scouting, to report back to Maren. I imagine I'll take her crew with me to deal with this."

Alvor still looked skeptical.

"What?"

"Just." The man brushed his beard with one big hand. "I've a feeling this is a larger bunch than we've seen so far."

"What makes you think that?"

"Something one of the guards overheard. About getting 'more people from the hall'—Those were their words, you see—and setting the whole place alight. An empty boast, probably, but it makes me worry. Maybe there's a bigger gang about, thinking of taking over the area. You know, shaking down people to 'protect' them and all that. You know, stuff of the larger world. Things are changing, son. We no longer live apart from the big folk's problems. The world's shrinking. And it ain't getting better while at it."

Erik thought about the man's words. Old man's woeful chatter about the glory times long past, perhaps but . . . he himself could not deny that the overall development of Tamriel over his lifetime had not been too favorable for honest folk.

_Gods, am I getting old too?_

"Aye," he said slowly. "You think Maren isn't enough to intimidate them?"

"You've gotta admit. While by no means old, she isn't getting any younger either. And her glory days, sorry to say, are long in the past. Her name just don't hold the sway it used to."

"Aye," Erik said, stretching out his back again. He really was getting old! He spat. "Aye."

He tried to change the subject to happier matters for a while, so he didn't have to leave the poor man in gloom. Or perhaps it was his own gloom he was worried about. But in any case, he soon bade farewell and departed, off to accomplish what he had come here to do.

But riding out, thinking about the smith's words, doubt overtook him. If indeed there was larger development happening, he might need some more information. Mostly sticking to a relatively small geographical area, he had no knowledge of the larger changes in the underworld lately. He might be in desperate need of a recap. He would need to consult someone better versed in such matters.

As he left the town, he had made up his mind. He would need more information and had enough time to take in order to acquire it. So instead of going to scout out the known hideouts in the close vicinity, he headed east.

He'd have to try and find Runa.

* * *

Ariadne scowled at the splintering ceiling rafters. Upon waking, the first thing she'd seen were those damned things, the lingering dream-smile melting right off her face. What was it that she had dreamed of, anyway? Quite possibly about some lovely boy, as those were the sort of dreams that were the surest to put a smile on her lips. Probably in the dream she had still been at the College, still on her way to becoming the greatest destruction mage that institution had ever seen. The good old days—which had come to a violent end during the last short twenty-four hours.

She yearned for those magical days. Back when it hadn't become apparent that the duplicitous bastard, Calisto . . .

 _Of gods forbid, I hope I wasn't dreaming of_ him _!_

Ariadne gave her head a firm shake, then kicked off her blankets and got up to stand up next to her bed. She scowled at the other side of the room where the scholar was still happily snoring away.

So unfair! Why would that scrawny little shrimp still get to . . . ?

_Calm down!_

She buried her face in her big hands, collecting herself. She was trying to overcome _this_ Ariadne. After what she and the slumbering scholar over there had just gone through, she couldn't continue her previous . . . _uppity_ ways. She'd need to be more mature, to grow up. She'd have to learn to get on with people better.

And she had to forget about what problems she'd harbored with Ariela, too, as she had recently come to find a new respect for the runt.

_The way she acted with that ghost! Gods, I would have never—_

"Ariadne?"

She quickly removed her hands from over her face, seeing Ariela frowning at her, still half-asleep.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," Ariadne replied curtly, sniffing. "Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"Yeah." Ariela yawned, rubbing at her eyes. "Of course." She bounced out of bed. "Well, I need to poop."

"That's nice to know."

"Oh," Ariela grinned, blushing a little. "Sorry. I was just thinking out loud."

"No harm done." Ariadne gestured toward the door. "Please, don't let me stop you."

"Yes. Yes, of course." And Ariela traipsed past and out the door, heading down the stairs to the inn lavatory.

Ariadne shook her head at the closed door _. I need to poop!_ Then she smiled. There was something disarming, in the end, about the scholar's awkwardness.

That smile soon faded as her thoughts then returned to where she'd left them. The ghost. Or whatever. Had it truly been Mannimarco, the King of Worms, back from either the dead or then whatever god-realm others believed him to now reside in? She could not believe it, but then there was very little in the way of alternative. If it walked like a duck, quacked like a duck, and swam like a duck, then it was usually . . . an undead necromancer turned god?

She gave her head a firm shake. It was too early to try to set things straight in her head, but then what else she was supposed to do? There was nothing to do here, in this small room of the Inn. They had spent a whole day here already, waiting for word from Sissel that the course was clear. They were probably still being searched for by the treacherous cult of renegade necromancer mages, or whatever they were.

Sauntering outside for a walk, therefore, was out of the question, as they were supposed to be laying low. Going down to sit by the fire downstairs was an equally impossible prospect. Even if that hadn't included the risk of getting spotted by some spy, there was the fact that it would take literally seconds for some drunken hero to set his bleary eyes on Ariadne and soon decide to impose himself on her, seeking to impress her robes off with boasts of his many deeds of valor, be they in the battlefields or in the sack or usually both and sometimes simultaneously. Yeah, those guys were everywhere, at any time of the day.

_No thanks to that._

So no, visiting the latrines was presently as perilous of an undertaking as they could risk. And even that was a bit . . . shaky.

In a royally bad mood now, Ariadne frowned deeply at the rafters. Long gauzes of cobweb fluttered in the draft. She frowned ever deeper. What kind of a dump were they running here! Was it really too much to ask for them to—

She squawked in surprise, jolting, as the door slammed open. Alarm immediately gave way to irritation, and she bounced up, ready to let the scholar get an earful about rattling her already frayed nerves with such unnecessary racket.

But the admonishments died on her lips. She blinked at the figure at the door. "Sissel?"

The chronically hard-faced woman looked even more grave than usual—although, suppose she had reasons for that—standing there at the door, a bit harrowed, even shocked, as if having rushed to attend a sermon in a temple and found herself in a brothel instead.

"There you are!" Sissel said. Where else did she expect to find her? She looked around. "Where is Ariela?"

Ariadne blinked, things happening too fast for her brain to quite catch up. "She's . . . pooping."

Sissel raised her brows.

"Well, she is!"

"Alright. Well, let's hope she's done soon. We have to go."

"Course's clear then?"

"What? No, no the damned course is far from clear. I mean, they might not be looking for you any more, but seems as though they soon won't have to, if what I fear comes to fruition."

Ariadne wasn't exactly prone to being easily rattled, but she could not deny a stab of unease. "What would that be?"

Sissel studied her, then shook her head. "If you thought Calisto was ugly before?" Actually, before everything, Ariadne had found the man rather dashing . . . _Never mind that!_ "Well, turns out he's even uglier!"

Ariela got off the bed all the way. "Tell me!" Why was she so curious? Why couldn't the damned bastard just clear from her mind already! She couldn't believe how those wonderful eyes had changed right in front of her . . .

The scholar chose this moment to enter the room. Her naturally worried expression got even more worried as she saw Sissel. "Sissel?" she said, needlessly.

"There you are!"

"I was—"

"Pooping, I know."

There was something admittedly comical about the way the scholar's mouth came open at that.

"Look, we don't have much time; get your stuff together!"

Ariela, after looking in the hallway, pulled the door closed. Still looking worried. "I assume it's bad."

"Yeah, well, it's worse!"

Sissel's dire reply seemed to disturb Ariela far less than Ariadne would have expected. The small woman gave a small nod. "I knew it somehow." Still worried enough, though, but not drastically so.

"Hardly takes a seer, does it!" Sissel spat. "When gods start getting involved, you know it's going to be a bad day for someone!"

"So it was him!" Ariadne cried.

"Yeah, of course it was! Who else but the Maggot of Maggots would make such a pompous appearance?" Sissel scowled. "Just yesterday you didn't even know who Mannimarco was."

Ariadne shrugged. "Well, I do now."

"How is he involved?" Ariela asked.

"In no way, far as I'm concerned. He would not be compelled by a cabal of fools. Who knew, right?"

"Well, if he's not involved," Ariadne pitched in. "What does it matter?"

"Are you a bit simple? Of course it matters! They might not have been able to get to him, but they sure did get his attention! And that can't mean anything good." Sissel gave Ariela a strange little sideways glance. "Not at all."

"What's Calisto up to?" asked Ariela.

Even the bare mention of the name got Ariadne to grit her teeth.

"Well, that's the issue here," Sissel replied. "Nothing good, as expected." She waved impatiently.  
"Look, just get your stuff together, I'll explain on the way."


	3. Minds Astray

So far Sissel had not explained anything. In fact, the woman had been hard pressed to answer the simplest question during their ride southeastward from Whiterun. Now, Ariela had always considered herself to be a very patient person, but this silence was really starting to get to her. They'd been kept in most pressing suspense, and now that something was finally happening, they didn't even know what that something was.

Deciding she wasn't going to take it anymore, she rode her horse Lucky beside Sissel's.

"Listen," she started. Sissel's sharp look nearly silenced her right off the cuff, but she persisted. "Where are you taking us?" She frowned down the road. "Back to Fellglow Keep?"

That was indeed the direction they were headed. What possible reason did she have to return there?

A wholly irrational stab of fear struck her, at the other woman's sudden strange look. Was this a trap? Could it have been that this was indeed not Sissel at all but someone . . _. I don't know, wearing her skin?_ The mere thought made her shiver, although at the same time she could not quite convince herself to be _truly_ afraid.

Sissel smiled, a touch impatient. "Relax. I will keep you safe." She then gave Ariela another look—one an awful lot like a _look-over_.

Suddenly awkward, the scholar cleared her throat. Oh, this was Sissel alright! Reminded her, at once pleasantly and piquingly, of Runa Fair-Shield. _I wonder how she's doing? Up to no good, I'm sure._ "I don't doubt that you do," she muttered.

"We need to make sure," Sissel said, "whether Calisto has left yet or not, before we report to Faralda."

"Left? Left to go where?"

"There was some errand that eerie woman, Nora, who apparently runs the cult, has sent him for—but it seems that our golden boy has plans of his own. I don't know what those are, precisely, but it can't be anything good. He must be stopped."

"How do you know about this?"

"I have eyes and I have ears, and they get around. That's all you need to know."

 _A bit excessively enigmatic, don't you think_? "How are we supposed to— Oh yeah, I remember now!"

"What?"

"While me and Ariadne were in that cell, Calisto had a conversation with that Nora person. She treated him very arrogantly, and once she'd left his obsequiousness was immediately replaced with bitterness. He was saying something about some place . . . ah, if only I could remember. Sounded like a Dwarven name!"

"Those are a nightmare if you don't know the language."

"I do!" Ariela reined herself in. This was no place for pride. "I mean, yeah. Damned if I could just remember the name!"

"A ruin?"

"Possibly, but not one I would have ever heard of."

"Doubt they've built new ones lately."

"What was that name!"

"Never mind that. It's whether Calisto accomplishes what he's trying to that matters. But this is too big for us. We'll need folks at the College to wake up to this threat so we can start to fight back."

"Threat? The cult?"

"Yeah, the cult." Sissel set her jaw. "And who knows what else."

The last part gave Ariela a chill.

Meanwhile, Ariadne had inconspicuously ridden right up behind them. "What's up?" she asked, drawing a jolt from Ariela.

_Damn it girl, but you scared me!_

The young mage did not exactly seem sorry about it.

Ariadne didn't bother suppressing the smirk that the jumpy scholar's yelp gave her.

"Ariadne, I didn't see you!" she gasped.

"I can tell. So." Ariadne shrugged. "What's going on?"

"Your boy, Calisto," Sissel began.

" _My boy_?" she said icily.

Sissel smirked. "He's up to no good, that naughty young man."

Ariadne narrowed her eyes. _Are you trying to pick a fight?_ "That fails to surprise me. He's a piece of work."

"I'm glad you see that now."

 _What's that supposed to— Ah, never mind her jabs. You're bigger than this_. "I admit he had me fooled." Gods be damned but it damn near physically hurt to admit that!

"I think all of us," Ariela interjected.

"Not me," said Sissel.

Ariadne narrowed her eyes again. _Well, shouldn't you be handed the clever girl award!_ She took a deep breath. This, now, was a perfect opportunity to practice the new, even-tempered Ariadne. She donned an ill-fitting smile. "I guess that's why you're the one running the show here and not us!" Did that come out just a tad bit condescendingly?

Whether it did or not, Sissel seemed not to either notice or care. "I'm running nothing, but we all are going to run out of time soon, so I suggest we keep going instead of wasting more breath on chit-chat."

Ariadne was about to protest, but the scholar caught her eye with a deterring gesture. As in, _not worth it_.

Ariadne gave a sigh. No doubt the scrawny bookworm had the right of it.

She fell back again, not finding much use for the company of the two. She had been trying to think the whole way here, but her mind kept running away with her.

_Where was I? Ah, yes, once the dust settles and things return to normal, I'm going to take the rest of my studies really seriously. Everyone can see that I'm the best destruction mage that joint has seen in ages, even Faralda will admit as much. Should I aim for the Arch-Mage's position? Ugh, no, the old crone will give it up over her dead body, and with her being Altmer and all, I can't wait for that long. What then? No way I'm going to be sticking around for a lesser position. I'd actually quite like to see the world. Cyrodiil, at least, has the weather going for it. And I hear the men there are the best lovers . . . then again, they say good things about Bretons as well. Good, er, with their mouths. And the Redguard supposedly have—_

Her cheeks burned. No, that was not what she was going to think about. This was her future as a great mage she had to be concerned with. Surely things of carnal nature would take care of themselves. After all, men were always throwing themselves at her feet. Well, not literally of course. That would be really inconvenient, if she was constantly having to step over prostrate—

Ariadne groaned in frustration. This wasn't working. She'd have to try this thinking business another time. She might as well use the time for some daydreaming, then.

_Where was I? Right, the Redguard . . ._

* * *

Ariadne made a strange noise behind her, but Ariela chose to ignore it. That girl had sort of started to get on her nerves, to be perfectly honest. Never had she met anyone with as high of an opinion of themselves coupled with the shortest imaginable attention span. A dreadful combination on anyone; but the fact that Ariadne was obviously also very gifted with magic made it especially worrisome. After all, the case of Calisto was an acute enough a warning of what magical prowess in hands devoid of strong moral standing could do. Not that she took Ariadne for _morally challenged_ in any degree comparable to him, but it would definitely not bode well if she chose not to try and rein in that overbearing personality of hers.

 _She's still young, give it time_.

Ariela almost snorted. Here she was, only two years older, but feeling as though those two years were as good as two decades. _Make that centuries_. Well, it was nothing new to her.

Feeling not only old but tired to boot, she wiped sweat off her brow. The exceptionally hot late-spring weather didn't make it any easier. She'd grown accustomed to the nearly continuous frost of Winterhold and had never really been the biggest fan of heat to begin with. In that sense, moving from Cyrodiil to Skyrim had originally fit her very well. The beauty of autumn had practically swept her off her feet the first time she'd seen it. The colors so vivid, they never got that way where she was from! But she could not deny having started to feel a little homesick as of late. She especially missed the hall of the Scholar's Guild . . .

Her mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. No, there was no returning to that place for her. She'd seen with her own eyes the note signed by the new principal **x** , confirming that he had sold his soul to the demon Hermaeus Mora, and not only that, sold _her_ to the cult, for who knew what purpose. The though made her not only sick but freezing cold to her very soul. What was going on in this world?

She gave a sigh. So much had been going on lately, and she was having a hard time keeping up with it. She'd been trying to arrange her thoughts in some kind of order, but things kept ending up in jumbled piles nevertheless.

What had she even been so preoccupied with just a few short days back, now seeming like an eternity ago? Musings on the nature of magic, the nature of the soul, the curious case of the supposedly unfulfilled prophesy of the Dragonborn . . .

Ariela's breath caught in her throat. Dragons. Why did that notion strike an uncomfortable note within her? Like a surge of memory, only . . . _empty_.

What had she forgotten?

She rubbed at her face _. I need to focus and not start chasing phantoms._ There were, after all, actual ghosts at play. She'd need to concentrate on the pressing matter at hand: this cult and whatever they were planning. She could hardly still believe it. They had truly summoned Mannimarco! And not only that, he had spoken to her personally! Seeming to take interest in her. Now, that, _that_ was something to get anxious about!

" _The Wheel spins around you in most . . ._ curious ways _. The probabilities . . . and the improbabilities. They myriad dimensions . . . the_ infinite Void _!"_

What did that even mean!

She could not let her mind linger there for too long. Her imagination was soon starting to get the best of her. And her imagination, although often her best friend, just as often proved to be her worst enemy.

In an attempt to bring herself back to the present moment, she let her gaze wander to her surroundings. Despite the heat, it sure was pretty this time of year. The grass, the foliage of the trees, all fresh and vibrant. The air heavy with fragrance. It was almost soothing. She then glanced at her companions—Ariadne behind her looking all lost in thought, a small smile on her lips, the austere Sissel ahead—and wondered how many people there were in the world who she could truly trust. Sissel was always a steadfast comrade, but there was an undeniable inaccessibility to her. Ariadne was a good person despite her idiosyncrasies, but then she was hardly any more able to navigate this mess that Ariela herself was. Still, she was a worthwhile companion, and certainly one to rely on when things got violent.

In fact, the girl was almost _too_ comfortable with violence. Made Ariela kind of nervous around the her.

 _Is there something that_ doesn't _make you nervous?_

There was no denying that her inner critic had a solid point with that one. She would really need to do something about her nerves: the constant anxiety had even started to interfere with her work this past winter. And with commencing wars between mages looming in the near distance, she would wind up a nervous wreck before long if she didn't learn to rein herself in soon. But how? Perhaps she should observe harder how others managed. Learn from them. Try to absorb some of their strength. She had, after all, always been good at assimilating things from her surroundings.

Once more her thoughts turned to Runa Fair-Shield.

 _Wonder what the woman up to_? she thought again.

* * *

"No good," Runa muttered. "No good. No fucking good!"

The headache and the nausea weren't the problem. Even if they were relatively rare visitors in her life, they were also easily taken care of. Just a little potion and everything was hunky dory. No, what chafed her, what there was no alchemy against, was the sudden loss of memory. That she could not for the life of her bring back the events from yesterday, starting from getting humped by . . . _wait, who again?_

Now, this kinda thing was not only rare but very fucking irritating! Runa Fair-Shield had always prided herself on her excellent control over herself, even when stumble-down plastered. But the sense of loss of control that went with having events blacked out from her mind was simply unbearable!

She laid there, on her back, holding her throbbing head and cursing. The Bee and the Barb was silent below her, the morning probably far underway. The curtains were drawn, of course, but little did that do with the sunlight piercing the tattered and stained scraps of once-white cloth. The bed springs poked her back through the overworked mattress.

For some time she considered that, for penitence, she should just forgo the hangover potion altogether. But that idea was soon out the window, as a particularly vicious convulsion threatened to heave up yesterday's . . .whatever grub she'd stuffed in her face. The food of the joint, as usual, left room for hoping. _Hoping it was worth a shit, that is_.

After the quick ingesting of the bitter stuff, once her body started feeling whole again, the upset over her scattered mind started to feel slightly less punishing. After all, some things were better left unremembered.

_Yeah, things like . . . ah, shit on it._

Truly, some things she'd really rather have forgotten.

_Well, no one's come and tried killing me yet, at least. And it's been, what, a whole day?_

_Killing you? Ha! You'd be lucky to get off so easily once they get their hands on you. And you won't be!_

Runa frowned. Now, it wasn't an altogether unfamiliar feeling to have her own mind spell out her doom for her, but she didn't usually feel it take such dark joy in it.

_I'm starting to crack. Face it, it's about due. How long have I lived this insane life of killing and almost dying? Honestly, I'm on borrowed time as it is. I've already turned thirty, right?_

She shook her head with determination and jumped off the bed, feeling just a little bit wobbly.

_Alcohol, I need alcohol. Then maybe a bit of cock._

Yeah, just a couple drinks to get her going again. And the first passable looking fellow she ran into after that was in for the ride of his life.

Runa gathered her stuff and stormed out of the room, feeling life in her veins again and relieved she could go for a bit longer without thinking about her future.


	4. Crossing Paths

Ariadne gritted her teeth, pressing herself against the fresh grass, blades poking into her cheek. Right behind this little knoll, there was the accursed voice of that bastard Calisto Larouche, obviously bragging to his toadies, even if she couldn't make out the words.

Sissel, laying right next to her so that their noses almost touched, mouthed a hushing gesture. "They can hear your grinding!" she whispered. Taunting her, even now, and completely deadpan.

Behind Sissel, Ariela lay on her back, her eyes wide, staring at the sky. Ariadne found herself glancing skyward herself, to make sure a pack—a flock?—of dragons wasn't upon them. Nope, just the sky. _Girl just isn't cut out for this_.

Sissel, pressing a finger to her lips, then inched up the slope for a looksee.

"What are you doing" Ariadne hissed, without effect. The scholar still stared ahead, breathing heavily, looking like she was having some sort of fit.

Ariadne muttered a curse. Some company she was stuck with.

The good news was, they hadn't had to look for Calisto. As they'd been nearing Fellglow keep, the sonofabitch had ridden down the road with two underlings. He had very nearly seen them too, before they'd slunk out of hiding here. It was only through Sissel's excellent instincts that they had managed to evade the threat. The woman might have been a royal ache in the posterior when you tied to get something out of her, but she was definitely someone to rely on.

Except maybe at moments like this. Why did she have to go nosing about!

Fully expecting Calisto to spot the fool at any moment, waiting for his cry, Ariadne closed her eyes with one fist squeezed so tight her nails bit painfully into her palm. Gods, how she would have liked to sink that fist into that beautiful, accursed face of Calisto's! Given the chance, she would not have stopped there. She wanted to make him _pay_!

_Ah, that's my girl! Now, let's hear more of what you would do!_

She opened her eyes with a scowl. Where did _that_ come from?

She started as Sissel skidded down next to her. "Hey!" the woman hissed. "We have to go!"

"What? Go where? Where's Calisto?"

"They're past now. We'll wait a minute longer to be safe, then take off."

"Take off _where_? After them?"

"I need to see!" Ariela suddenly cried, crawling up the hill in spite of Sissel's attempt at stopping her.

Sissel hissed. "Too dangerous to follow them. We need to go to Faralda, let her know it's time."

"It'll be too late! Who knows how far he'll be by then! Who even knows where he's going?"

"One of the henchmen mentioned the Rift."

"That's doesn't much help! We need to follow them!"

Sissel shook her head. "Too dangerous."

" _Too dangerous_? Two of us can take him, easy!"

"I would not count on that. And we have no idea how capable his companions are."

"Still!" Ariadne insisted.

"No!"

"I agree with her," Ariela said as she slid down.

Sissel looked pleased. "Thank you—"

"I mean Ariadne."

" _What_!"

Ariadne grinned. "She's the smart one, you know."

Ariela seemed to blush at that. Silly girl.

"Look, both of you, this is no game. If Calisto—"

"Uh-oh," Ariadne said, giving Ariela a gin. "Aunt Sissel's about to give us a lecture!"

"I'm about to bend you over my knee!" Sissel said. "Don't think you'd be the first."

Now it was Ariadne who blushed. _Damned woman!_

"We have to follow him!" Ariela said urgently. "I feel it. We absolutely _must_." She gave Sissel a sober, surprisingly resolute regard. "I don't care if you come along or not. I'm going."

Sissel studied the younger woman hard, as though trying to figure out if she could stare her down.

"I'm with you!" said Ariadne, and Ariela responded with a heartened smile.

Sissel turned that hard look on Ariadne, and soon seemed to reach a conclusion. She sighed. "I can see there's nothing I can say to change your minds."

Ariela shook her head. "This is more important than us. I don't know how I know that but trust me."

Sissel studied the scholar. "Aye," she said then. "I do. Against all my better judgment, I do."

"Are you coming?"

"No. I must report to Faralda. And pray it's not too late."

"Let's get going then!" said Ariadne.

"Just promise me," Sissel said, grabbing her by the collar of her robes. "That you won't let yourselves be seen!"

Ariadne glanced down at the hand. She nodded, looking the woman square in the eye. "We promise. Don't we, Ariela?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Yeah, of course."

Ariadne grinned. "See?" Then again looked down at Sissel's still gripping hand.

Just a little disgruntled, Sissel let go, giving a nod. "That'll have to be good enough. And immediately when you find out where he's headed, you run like the wind to return to the College! Alright?"

"Alright," Ariela said.

"Yeah, whatever," said Ariadne.

Sissel gave her head a critical shake. As if to say, _kids!_

She mounted, shot them one more severe regard. "Just make sure I don't have to go to my grave with your deaths on my conscience." And without waiting for replies, she rode off.

They watched her distancing for a little while. Then Ariadne gave the scholar a grin. Slapping her shoulder. "Just to two of us now, huh, girlfriend?"

Ariela frowned.

* * *

Runa spat.

The Breton fellow— _Oscar_ , maybe?—had been nice enough to look at, and equipped with passable "bedside manner," but the taste of him still lingered in her mouth. Oddly _sour_ , somehow! Still, she wasn't complaining. A bit tipsy after two, six shots of Colovian brandy the word was looking a shade brighter. Didn't hurt being satiated between the legs, either—even if she'd had to use her own hand to finish. But then his tongue _had_ offered a nice _backup_ . . .

_Okay, ol' girl: time to focus again and think about the—_

Fuck. Yeah, guess it wasn't going to be leaving her alone was it? She'd still have to think about how to orient herself to this new life—one hanging by a hair's breadth on account of the Nightingale's goons undoubtedly eager to give her their compliments on work well done.

_Bashnag, you owe me big time! Gods, I hope you'll prove to us all it was worth it!_

She had to stop there. Even Runa was not so conceited as to convince herself of her own noble motivations. She had wanted to take the honor all for herself simply because she liked the idea. What they would be saying about her! Runa Fair-Shield. The slayer of the Nightingale. The craziest, most dangerous bitch in all of Tamriel!

_Loved by few, hated by many, bedded by most. Killed by her own goddamn arrogance_.

She spat again, this time out of irritation. Her own mind could not even let her have a moment's worth of pride.

But there was no getting around it, she would not be able to figure this out all by her little self. And try as she might avoid the natural conclusion, she'd be needing advice from her wise ol' mother. Yeah, Maren would definitely have some idea of what to do. Once she was done scolding Runa for being a reckless, thoughtless, suicidal piece of moronic, undiluted stubborn stupidity, that was.

But deep down, Runa knew, Ma would be proud of her!

So she gave Frost the spurs, headed west.

* * *

Erik tipped his head in greeting at the two women passing him on the road. He only meant to polite, but the young ladies giggled as if he'd made some grand courting gesture. He did not let that confound him, but instead smiled his most pleasant smile and rode on, resisting the urge to look back.

With a not an altogether unpleasant feeling, he gave a sigh. For reasons he'd never been quite able to figure out, women had always tended to look favorably upon him. It's not like he was handsome or anything, and he'd never had money to speak of, let alone taste for nice clothes. Of course he _was_ the rugged warrior-type and well-muscled and somewhat scarred but not in the way to make children cling to their mothers' skirts, and even he wasn't utterly clueless about how that tickled many women's fancy. But there were plenty of men like him, and not all of them were received the same way. Why women seemed to like him in particular, he honestly did not know. But no one heard him complaining!

_There's more important things to worry about!_

He sighed again. This time out of boredom. He had never particularly enjoyed lonely rides. With no one to talk to, his thoughts had a bad habit of running away with him, and seldom in directions he much cared for. In fact, he rarely enjoyed spending time alone. For some, that seemed to come naturally, but he had always been more natural in company. _To be in my own thoughts_ had always seemed like such an alien wish to have. Like, what good was that? What was it about the company of your own thoughts that was so desirable for folks? He, he'd always found those to be boring company at best, disturbing at most.

Did this make him shallow? Frankly, he could not be bothered to care.

He was just passing Whiterun so that meant several more hours' worth of riding before he reached Riften. Even going there was just a good guess, as that was most often where you found Runa Fair-Shield when not on an adventure or just carousing. Of course there was a good chance he'd come up empty but at least folk there often had some idea of her whereabouts. That is, if anyone did. But it was better than nothing. He really had the distinct feeling that the woman was what he'd need in dealing with these bandits. If there was one person to turn to about a possible larger gang of outlaws, it was her. She went everywhere and knew everyone, it seemed. She'd have heard something and would probably have an idea what to do about such things.

Perhaps it was a bit ironic that he looked up to Runa these days. After all, it had been him who'd initially taught her to effectively fight when she was still a kid. He had been working for Maren for a couple years by then, having taken up residence at the Lakeview Manor with a host of other warriors. Back in the day, Maren Dragonheart was still at the height of her strength and widely feared. Incidentally, she was then also widely hated by bandits and other evildoers, so needed people to guard her as she prepared to focus more on business, having started to tire of the constant bloodshed of the warrior lifestyle.

Erik had always regarded Runa as the little sister he'd never had. But little siblings grow up, and Erik was man enough to admit that by her teen years that girl had surpassed him in skill. And most certainly she'd earned herself a reputation all across the province whereas his name was more or less utterly unknown. He was more than fine with that, as he'd never learned to thirst for honor, let alone notoriety. Honest, albeit violent, work and adventure for decent pay, a roof over his head, plenty to eat and a belly full of mead, those had always been enough for him.

Did this make him a bit simple?

Erik shrugged to himself, then greeted some other passersby, these being a group of priests of this or that deity. They returned with perfunctory pious nods. Passing them, he thought he caught a whiff of wine.

He raised his eyes to the clear blue sky. The day proved to be a glorious one, and if it hadn't been for the unnamed sense of worry in the back of his head he would have no doubt felt quite happy. Summer had always been without a doubt his favorite time of year and this year it had come delightfully early.

He was a simple man with simple pleasures. Yes, there was nothing wrong with that. In fact, in a world so full of folk intent on—

His thoughts were cut short as he saw something ahead. His mouth came open just a little bit.

And his heart leapt at a most unexpected feeling.

* * *

Ariela gnawed her nails, then realized what she was doing and quickly drew her hand away. One way to keep some rein on her nerves, she'd found, was to refrain from all the associated nervous bodily behaviors. She actually found that helped her cope, though honestly not by much. But she had to take her triumphs where she could.

Ariadne rode back from where she'd been scouting. Bareback on her black mare, Arcana, graceful as though born on a horse. How did she manage to make it look so natural, when Ariela's bony behind was aching terribly even on an expensive saddle? Clearly the young woman was made of far finer material than she.

Ariela suppressed the acute sense of envy as the mage reached her. "Well?"

"Course clear. They're out of sight, up the road toward the Rift. As expected."

Ariela nodded, feeling nervous. Well, she almost always felt nervous, but now especially so. This was her first time tracking someone, and she was certain that you'd be hard-pressed to find a single soul less fit for such a task. Constantly convinced that they would spot her any moment. That she was probably just being led into a trap.

Shading her eyes with her hand, she gazed toward the city of Whiterun in the near distance. She would have much rather been safe within those sturdy walls. Riften had been the first place she'd seen in Skyrim, and despite its natural beauty, she could not say she had much enjoyed the place. Perhaps that had more than a little to do with that fact that the area was under the rule of that supremely unlikable witch, Maven Black-Briar.

"So," Ariadne said, drawing her back to the present moment. "Whenever you're ready I guess. Like, if you have nothing better to do."

Cheeks burning and without comment, Ariela spurred Lucky on to ride after the mage.

At least the strange feeling that had overtaken her as soon as they'd run into Calisto was finally starting to fade. She could not explain it, and the farther away from her the feeling got the harder it was even to remember. Like a dream. And she felt that it also related to the dreams she'd been having lately. Those evaded her memory as well!

Was this a sign of some sickness coming through? Was she beginning to lose her mind? Was the pressure finally starting to get to her?

_Why did you fly from home, little bird? This world is not for you. You are too_ weak _! Prey for the strong, that is all._

Suddenly nauseous, Ariela tried to resist the urge to retch by taking a few deep, settling breaths, letting her eyes wander in the natural landscape surrounding her and trying to clear her mind of all thought.

That was far easier said than done, of course.

_The leaves! focus on the leaves._

She scanned the rich foliage of the lush birch trees growing by the road. Really _looking_ , trying to make them fill as much of her consciousness as she possibly could. It seemed to work. Steadfastly keeping at bay the disturbing thoughts that tried to bubble to the surface, she instead submerged her attention in the natural beauty of her surroundings.

It had always been one of her favorite things to observe, the different ways in which light filtered through leaves. Different seasons, different time of the day, anything that altered the light's angle, had its distinct feeling and mood. Was it that it reminded her of the transience of all things, that bitter-sweet melancholy that went with it, or something else? Perhaps she simply enjoyed the ambience.

_Yeah, you're one to keep things simple, sure enough!_

The foreboding returned. Did she always have to be so hard on herself? In fact, _had_ she always been so hard on herself? She didn't quite think so. It was almost that the longer she had spent in the trap of her own fears and doubts, regarding her place in the world and all, the more her own mind was turning in on itself.

_It can't go on like this. I'll drive myself insane at this rate._

"Ariadne!"

Ariela frowned. Somehow she had never made the conscious decision to open her mouth. But she realized she needed conversation, to distract herself from her inner turmoil. Even Ariadne would suffice to that end, although she always found it so difficult to find things to talk about with the girl. They were just so different.

_Maybe we don't need to be?_

* * *

_Oh, gods, what now. What does she want from me?_

Ariadne made sure to roll her eyes _before_ she turned to meet Ariela's. She even tried on a cordial smile of sorts, with no idea of how it actually looked on her face. Based on the scholar's frown, perhaps it wasn't entirely successful. "What's up?"

"Uh, well. How are you feeling. . . about . . . all this?"

Biting back the remark which immediately sprang to mind, Ariadne cocked her head. "Care to be more specific?" _Uh, maybe just a bit too sharp._

"Well, you know."

"No. No, I don't."

"I mean, you and Calisto. Eh, I mean, I don't mean to imply . . . er, anything. But, seeing that . . . " She trailed off.

_Oh gods, please stop! This is getting super awkward._ "I mean to kill him. Just as I said. I don't care how I felt about him . . . before. Everything's changed." She couldn't help feeling a bit surprised how naturally she had gone there. But by the Divines, she'd had to do something to dig the scholar's foot out of her mouth before she got it in any deeper.

"I see."

"I'm glad."

"But what if, you know, you can't?"

"Kill him? I can!"

"How do you know?"

"He's good. I'm in no confusion about that. But I'm better. I know it. He has raw skill, and in that he may even surpass me. But I have a . . . I don't know. A way of _feeling_ the magic, that I believe sets me apart from almost anyone I've talked with. And I just don't believe he has that. He's too coarse. Hope I don't sound too arrogant?"

"No, no," Ariela hurried to say. "In fact, I find that refreshing about you. You . . . make no apologies. And I do mean it in the best sense."

_What other sense could you mean it in?_ "Thanks, I guess." Well now, suddenly, Ariadne felt awkward again.

Not as awkward, however, as the scholar's smile was. "Don't mention it. I admire you. I wish . . . I don't know. Take a page from your book."

_How is it, woman, that you manage to drag super-awkwardness back whenever I manage to push it off?_ Ariadne forced a smile. "Follow along, and maybe you will." Gods, now she really did sound obnoxiously arrogant!

"I will," said Ariela.

"Well, you've no choice, really. Unless you want to go after Sissel alone."

Ariela seemed to give a shiver. "I really don't. Plus, I need to know where this is going. It's really important, I can somehow feel it in my bones. And I need to be there. Come what may."

"Just make sure to stay back when the action starts."

"No need to worry on that account!"

There was a pause, as Ariela seemed to hesitate.

"What is it?"

"Just . . . maybe not kill him before we find out?"

"I'm not going to be stupid about it. I can bide my time." Ariadne grinned fiercely. "I'm going to _enjoy_ it!" At that last utterance, she felt an unexplainable dark joy budding somewhere deep within her. Made her feel dirty somehow!

The scholar seemed a bit taken aback as well. "Uh, okay."

Ariadne cleared her throat. "I mean, he has it coming."

"Yes, sure. Sure. Of course."

_Ugh. Awkward._

It was back to silence between them.

* * *

Ariela tried her best to just forget about the sudden discomfort she had gotten around the young mage. But she could not deny it: that flash in the woman's eyes that she'd seen, no matter how ephemeral, had deeply shocked a part of her.

_I mean, I know she's a person of violence, and I've known plenty of those by now, and spent enough time near them to be realistic about the complexities of the psyche: how the same person can be perfectly good-hearted and kind and yet capable of brutality. But still . . ._ It had felt almost external to Ariadne, that emanation of _darkness_ and _spite_ , of vicious intent and delight in destruction and death.

_Is that simply the darkness that lives inside us all? Is that why we can sometimes do the things we do? All the atrocities?_

She had to take a deep breath as she suddenly felt faint. Coinciding with that was a sense of deep self-doubt in her own soul. _It's your weakness shining through! You cannot handle this reality as it truly is! The likes of Ariadne, they have what it takes. They are the ones who will inherit the world to come. The strong. The cruel._

Ariela shook her head. "No," she muttered. Ariadne was strong, but she wasn't cruel. Ariela knew the girl enough to say that with conviction. That was perhaps precisely what had so disturbed her. The alien sense that she had gotten. _Can I say with confidence that I truly know her? That I truly know anyone? That I know_ myself _?_

There was that almost-laughter in the back of her head again. Speaking of alien.

_I think too much._

She tried again, with mixed success, to concentrate on the natural beauty around them. There was predictability in nature which, despite the obvious horror of it, comforted her. Compared with the almost unnavigateable—was that a word?—terrain of the minds of self-aware beings, there was something there that you could rely on.

Crossing a bridge, she did not have to force herself to look at the glimmer of the water passing lazily below. Water was one of her favorite elements, and the way sunlight highlighted it never failed to calm her mind. If only she could make her mind like it, just flowing, unproblematic. Nothing could break it.

There were of course techniques, used by mages and mystics, to make the mind as the—

"Ariela!"

The unexpected cry, which she for an instant took for Ariadne's before realizing its unmistakably male quality, not only took her surprise but caused a most unsettling flutter in her belly. She would recognize the voice anytime, she realized.

When she turned to look, the flutter became a thing of the past.

No fluttering for a stomach suddenly finding itself upside-down.

* * *

The strangest feeling, which he told himself was simply surprise, wallowed in his stomach as he approached the women with a broad if oddly ill-fitting smile on his lips. "Ariela! It's Erik. You still remember me?" Only then did it occur to him that she might actually not. Arrogantly he had just assumed that _of course_ she would still remember him. But they had only known each other for a couple days and a couple years ago at that. Being a good deal younger than him, such a stretch of time surely felt a lot longer to her.

To his pleasant surprise, then, the young woman returned his smile, saying, "Erik! It _is_ you. Of course I remember! In fact, I've been wondering how you are doing."

_Really?_ "Oh," he said. Not really able to think of anything. Suddenly feeling really stupid.

"Um," Ariela said. "Yeah."

And they stood there, three horses and riders, an uncomfortable silence blooming between them.

_Great, now you made her feel uncomfortable. Idiot! Say something! And make it good!_

But Ariela went ahead. "So, uh this is Ariadne. She's . . . a mage."

Erik had barely paid attention the other woman. Now that he good a look at her, the first thing he noticed was how beautiful she was. And how young, probably one to three years senior to Ariela.

The second thing he noticed was cemented into his mind the second she opened her mouth. "A great pleasure to meet me, I'm sure," she said with the haughtiest smile he had ever seen.

He raised his brows. "Uh, hi." He couldn't think of anything else to say, but honestly he really didn't much care to, either. He turned back to Ariela. "So, what brings you here?" Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Ariadne the mage seemed to be sulking somewhat. _Well, that's her business_.

"Well." Ariela hesitated. "A sort of mission."

"Ooh? What kind of mission?"

"That really is our business," chimed in Ariadne. As he met her gaze, she gave a strange smile. "No offence."

Erik flashed her his best big grin, one used for charming snakes and other unpleasant creatures, not one devoid of mockery. "I never take offence."

"Good for you."

"Aye. So," addressing Ariela again, "can I offer my assistance?"

Ariadne scowled. "I thought I said—"

"Please," Ariela interrupted the scowling mage. She smiled shyly at Erik. "She is right, however. Best you don't get involved."

"Aye?" Erik offered a grin to sour Ariadne first, then to the scholar. "Well, now you've got my full attention!"

"So it would seem," muttered Ariadne. Or at least that's what he thought he heard.

"You don't understand. It's . . ." Ariela looked to blush a little.

"Dangerous?" Erik spread out his arms, almost wincing over the showiness of his own unpremeditated gesture. As if he were saying, _woman look at this frame!_ "Don't you think I know a thing or two about that? I mean, come on, you're not talking to a _librarian_." He thought he saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. "Uh, I don't mean to imply that _you_ are. Or . . ." Gods, why did he feel like a callow lad all of a sudden!

"It's okay," Ariela said placatingly. "I get what you mean. And of course, it's not that. It's—"

"It's mage-business, sword-boy," Ariadne said. "A little out of your league, maybe. The likes of you tend to just get in the way."

He narrowed his eyes. "What is your _problem_!"

"Well, let's see, what could it be?" She pressed a long finger over her full lips, in mock thought.

She really _was_ beautiful, Erik was loath to admit. Perfectly proportioned features, a proud nose and full lips, eyes black with passionate fire, and that flowing dark hair falling onto her slender yet strong shoulders. A tall and dexterous body. Looking at her gave him a certain feeling. Reminded him of how tired his body was—

"Hmm," Ariadne concluded, "maybe it's the fact that here we're minding our own business, when suddenly mister Steel-for-brains Noseypants comes out of nowhere and starts to—"

"Ariadne, please!" Ariela interrupted, looking horrified.

But Erik was already laughing. "Oh, I like you! Kind of." _Except not really_.

"One of those decidedly one-sided feelings," replied Ariadne icily.

Erik shrugged. "Well, I'm headed the same way as you. You can't stop me."

"Oh, rest assured that would hardly be a trick at all."

Ignoring her, "And Ariela and I, for one, have some catching up to do. So certainly you would not turn down my company?"

The little scholar looked unsure. Erik felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out and hug her. _Careful there, buddy . . ._

"I . . ." Ariela said.

"Look, I promise not to try to butt in. You may keep your mystery; once we're to the Rift we may go our separate ways. I have my own business to conduct anyway. Looking for Runa, in fact."

"Oh." Ariela's eye lit up. "I've been wondering about her. How is she?"

"Eh," he said with a shrug. "Same as always, I'd say. Tell you the truth, I don't see her all that much these days. Busy girl, that one. Always was." He couldn't help but worry about her was what he left out. But that's how it had always been. Family, you couldn't help but worry.

"It'd be nice to see her again," Ariela said.

"I'd bet she would like that too. Hey, maybe we can all meet up, once all this is done." He glanced at the surly mage. "Whatever all this is."

Ariela smiled. "I think . . . I would like that."

Erik smiled back.

And Ariadne cleared her throat. "This is all very sweet. But there's still certain . . . well, certain business in need of taking care of. So, maybe, possibly, if you two would just in any way see it was possible, we could, maybe, keep going before the . . . thing gets out of our hands."

"Of course," Ariela said.

"So, we are in agreement?" Erik said. "I'll accompany you for the time being?"

Ariadne rolled her eyes. "Seems that short of frying you to a crisp, we can't stop you, as you say." She gave him a look no doubt meant to be warning. "But don't think I wouldn't fry you if I thought it necessary . . ." She gave a nasty grin. "Or fun."

Erik rolled his eyes in turn. Laughed. "Interesting company you keep getting yourself into, Ariela."

The young scholar went red.


End file.
